


my hard killing mind

by homosexualitie



Series: it's alright my dear, this is a circular story [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Modern Era, a lot of talking but nothing getting done, not gonna lie this is pretty heavy, this also does not have any Healing in it so don't come here lookin for hurt comfort, this is all hurt no comfort, you do also need the previous work in this series for context
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27315355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homosexualitie/pseuds/homosexualitie
Summary: Very quietly, Merlin says, “Do you know how many people I've seen die? Even not including you— I mean, I was a physician for as long as I can remember. Life is so—” he moves his hand, places his thumb, lightly, on the pulse point on Arthur’s neck. “—fragile.” he says pensively.Arthur doesn’t move.Merlin continues, “You know, back in Camelot, I killed for you?"
Series: it's alright my dear, this is a circular story [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1831063
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	my hard killing mind

**Author's Note:**

> i went digging through my google drive and found this, edited it a bit, and here we are. you really do need the previous work in this series for context, because literally nothing here will make sense otherwise.  
> also i saw someone on the ao3 hating on arthur this is by no means an arthur hate fic. i love arthur and merlin both, i just want to explore the Very Bad Things they did, and i think that fandom sometimes ignores that for a completely uncritical (or overly critical) view of their characters. i hate to be like 'please consume this eight year old show with a critical eye' but please consume this eight year old show with a critical eye.
> 
> title taken from antigonick by anne carson

It’s late when he and Merlin talk— or it might be early, somewhere between midnight and two in the morning, both of them still sitting on the couch. Merlin has two fingers on his wrist, measuring his pulse. Arthur closes his eyes. 

Very quietly, Merlin says, “Do you know how many people I've seen die? Even not including you— I mean, I was a physician for as long as I can remember. Life is so—” he moves his hand, places his thumb, lightly, on the pulse point on Arthur’s neck. “—fragile.” he says pensively. 

Arthur doesn’t move. 

Merlin continues, “You know, back in Camelot, I killed for you? I was a _physician_ , I was supposed to _save_ people— I destroyed their lives instead of stitching them back together. And—” he removes his hand from Arthur’s throat, which Arthur is briefly grateful for, as Merlin clenches his hand into a fist and taps it, lightly, on his chest. "And I did it for you. When I said I did everything for you I wasn’t exaggerating.”

Arthur opens his eyes. He’s supposed to say something, he knows. This is the part in the conversation that he owns up, that he attempts to wash his hands clean of the blood that stains them. 

He says, finally, “I wish you had _told_ me.”

Merlin laughs a little, this sharp little sound, and the first thing Arthur thinks is _he’s been spending too much time with Morgana_. The second thing he thinks is that he has somehow ruined this again. 

Then Merlin says, his voice still sharp, “You know why I couldn’t tell you. And I think that was the worst part. That I had to see people _die_ . And not just that, I had to see them die _at your hands_ . And I—” his hands clench into fists. "I don’t think you understand. I _killed_ for you. I did it because I thought it would save your life. And the whole time, while I was killing for you, sacrificing my happiness and livelihood for you, if you had found out about my magic, if I had told you, you could have killed me. You _would_ have killed me.”

Arthur interrupts. "I don’t know if I would have.” 

Merlin sits up fully, turns to face Arthur. "I didn’t think you would understand. I’ll spell it out, then. I would have done _anything_ for you. If you had asked me to let my mother die, if you had asked me to walk onto a pyre and burn myself to ash, I would have _done_ it. And there was _no_ way you would have done the same for me. Not only that, but I was living in a country that wanted me _dead_ . I was in love with you and _you_ wanted me dead. I couldn’t even _trust_ you, how the hell was I supposed to _love_ you?”

Arthur puts his head in his hands. “Merlin—”

But Merlin’s on a roll. He continues, “How many people did I watch go up on the noose? How many innocent people _burned_ ? And how many did I have to just _watch_ , knowing, that maybe, even if it was just the smallest chance, knowing that I _could have helped_?”

Arthur stutters out, “I don’t know.”

Merlin’s eyes flash. "More than a hundred,” he says, voice still sharp but also incredibly forceful. It feels like he’s knocked all the air out of Arthur’s lungs. 

Arthur doesn’t say anything. Merlin doesn’t stop talking. "That’s a hundred people that died because of _me_ ,” he says. "Because _I_ let it happen. And maybe _you_ can excuse that by telling yourself that they were guilty, that they knew the law but they broke it anyway. But I know the law was _wrong_ . I broke the law every day, and I didn’t deserve to die. And none of those people deserved to die either. Not even the people who wanted you _dead_ . All of their blood is on _my_ hands.”

Arthur puts a hand on Merlin’s wrist. “Merlin,” he says, “it’s in the past.”

Merlin pulls his wrist back. "How can you say that?” he asks. "Those people could have lived, they could have done so much, and I just—” he makes a violent gesture, “— let them die. Do you know how long I agonized over what I could have done, what I _should_ have done but I didn’t? I did that for you. I let more than a hundred people _die_ for you, Arthur Pendragon. And that’s _not_ in the past, because, you know something horrible?”

Arthur doesn’t want to ask. He still leans in and asks, “What is it?” 

Merlin looks straight at him. “I'd do it _again_ ,” he says. "If you asked, I mean. If you _needed_ it. If it meant you could live a little longer or if it would give you peace, I would let a civilization _burn_.” He catches his breath, sits back a little.

He continues, “Love doesn’t make you a better person. Love is what made me watch and do _nothing_ while hundreds of people died.”

Arthur looks at Merlin’s hands, which are still clenched into fists. He thinks about the potential of violence, the way that the impulse must lay dormant in everyone, but especially people like them, how _that impulse_ must be buried somewhere deep in Merlin, just waiting to come out.

He reaches out and puts his hand over Merlin’s right hand. He doesn’t unclench his fist, he’s still tense beyond belief. Arthur says, “I'm sorry, Merlin. If I had known—”

Merlin closes his eyes. "I don’t know if that’s enough,” he says. 

Arthur has no idea what to say. Merlin’s voice is resigned, almost exhausted. He’s been keeping all of this inside him, Arthur realizes, for more than a thousand years. He can’t even comprehend that. 

He squeezes Merlin’s hand. "If I could take it back,” he starts. He doesn’t finish. Merlin stands up and looks down at him, as if he’s passing judgement. Arthur guesses he fails, because Merlin sighs and walks away. 

He stays there for as long as he can handle, trying not to move. Trying to process what Merlin just told him. 

But in the end, it doesn’t matter if he can process the information he’s been given, it doesn’t matter if he can understand the mechanisms behind all the horrible things he did. Because there’s no way to atone, there’s no way to right those wrongs. The victims, all the people who died at his hands, are all long-dead, and their families too. 

Healing from something like this, Arthur thinks dully, is impossible.

**Author's Note:**

> i promised more works in this universe and it only took (checks watch) uhhhh four months. hope y'all enjoy anyway.


End file.
